The wind picked up on a lonely street. It was early october and just starting to get chilly. I was starting to turn the corner when I thought I heard someone calling my name. By reflex I stoppped and looked around, nobody there. I kept walking and passed under the cemetary gates. Again I stopped and searched the expance of old, crumbley graves for the source of the voice calling my name. Once again I saw nothing and continued on my way. I headed straight to that familiar grave, the one on whom's tombstone read, "In loving memory, Carlisle Christopherson. 1927-1999" I couldn't help but laugh at what my grand dad had wanted inscribed under his name. Even in death he was always in good humor. It read, "Died at age 72 but still couldn't figure out how to take one pill twice a day!" I bent down and at the base of the headstone, place the one Tiger lily I had brought. Always just one Tiger lily, that is all my grand dad had asked for. I placed my head on the cool, ruff surface of the headstone and tried to get ride of the feelings of dout that I had. I was there at the bed side the morning he had died, yet I still had moments when I thought he was there with me. I knew that I was crazy for even think that thought but, what if? What if he hadn't died? I looked up toward the sky as if maybe that answer would be up there, written in the stars. Of course they weren't. Someone whispered my name and I groggily looked up. I was tired all of the sudden and just wanted to get home. I stood up and walked a few paces before turned and walked back to the grave. Oh how I wish you were here grandfather. Here to make all my hurt go away, here to sit and listen to me vent all my troubles. I wish you would be here, sitting in that old rocking chair smoking your pipe, listening intentely. You always knew what to say to make me feel better! I curled up against the cold stone and found comfort in the solidness some how. I closed my eyes and began to drif, dift into a world were all my troubles dissappered.
I began to dream. A dream like no other I had experianced before. I was there, a little girl just but the age of 8, listening to the sound of my father's voice, hearing my mother reassure him that everything would be alright. And then I was 11, sitting by the fireplace, learning how to knit a blanket with my mother. Then so rapidly, I was 16, sitting by my grand dad's bedside. I was watching my mother and grandmother weep, my father crying silent tears. I wasn't even sad. I looked at my grandfather laying so silent and still. I couldn't help but notice he was pale; sickly, deathly pale. And yet I cryed not, didn't even feel a twinge a regret as I strode from the room, not caring enough to relize that this would be my grandfather's last moments. I walked passed the garden, passed the creek running through the land. and suddenly I was back in the room, laying a single Tiger lily on my grandfather unmoving chest. I was at the funeral, plucking the petals off Tiger lilies that been placed on his casket. Holding the petals in hand, I allowed one tear to fall, to cascade down my cheek and onto the petals before the wind picked up and carried the last piece of him I had with me along with the petals.
I began to dream. A dream like no other I had experianced before. I was there, a little girl just but the age of 8, listening to the sound of my father's voice, hearing my mother reassure him that everything would be alright. And then I was 11, sitting by the fireplace, learning how to knit a blanket with my mother. Then so rapidly, I was 16, sitting by my grand dad's bedside. I was watching my mother and grandmother weep, my father crying silent tears. I wasn't even sad. I looked at my grandfather laying so silent and still. I couldn't help but notice he was pale; sickly, deathly pale. And yet I cryed not, didn't even feel a twinge a regret as I strode from the room, not caring enough to relize that this would be my grandfather's last moments. I walked passed the garden, passed the creek running through the land. and suddenly I was back in the room, laying a single Tiger lily on my grandfather unmoving chest. I was at the funeral, plucking the petals off Tiger lilies that been placed on his casket. Holding the petals in hand, I allowed one tear to fall, to cascade down my cheek and onto the petals before the wind picked up and carried the last piece of him I had with me along with the petals.
